I like to prepare in peace,
Plan plots after I passionately procreate,
Two minds combined multiply, help one to think.
Even though no words were spoken in embrace,
Fingers trace up and down spines with grace,
Opening up impregnable castles by holding down bodies,
Unleashing intuitive senses with leashed ligaments,
With spirits at ease worries deceased, ideas free to breed,
Head steady weaving webs, cobwebs set to breeze.
Born in the year of the pig I came from Wilbur’s seed,
Charlotte’s web saved my Father from slaughter,
So I continued his game, flipping and chopping.
Time went by, grew infatuated with a black widow,
Must have been a fetish but this was no longer a play.
My survival was at stake, and before I became bacon,
I had to pull out, slip out from the lock of long legs,
Yet still try to straddle without getting bucked,
Poisoned, eaten post coitus, on fangs stuck.
Pigged out, entered into her course, full but not fucked,
Made my escape neat and tidy, a nature perceived prudent,
But a chaotic mind would only find order within dreams,
By pieces of her swagger, style in movement, dark seams.